Margie speaks softly…

Many a night I had dreams like nightmares… Always the same dreams, always the same outcome… Never deviating from its course, never-changing the principle players and always ending in violence… always ending with a little girl quietly praying to the god her parents said existed… and never being heard… praying for the pain to stop and to be taken so she would suffer no more… she prayed to a man-made god that had even less substance than the air the child breathed…

Only one problem with those nightmares… I never recognized me… I never saw the little girl named Margie… the child was a stranger, a ghost of a memory that had no substance, no form… yet there she was with her curly hair, big gray eyes, swollen limbs, broken bones and bruised body… In clinical terms, I had disassociated with myself… Which when you think about it, classic PTSD and TBI…

margie
Covered in bruises…

You can’t see it in this picture, but both arms are swollen from blunt force trauma, the right hand and wrist are injured and little finger broken… all at the hands of the woman called mother, the woman who knows her god…

It is Margie I hear calling my name at night… It is Margie I see running, for ever running to get away from the people who wanted to harm her…

It is Margie with a forced smile, because to not obey meant being hit… Hit on the body and hit on the head… It wasn’t about a child, it was about an adult and control… Control in the name of a man-made god…

Margie is still running, trying desperately to get away from the people she called mom and dad…

Margie never had a protector in that house… It was never a home… It was a house of pain, bullying, control and hate… It was a house built on a false foundation that stands to this day…

Margie is struggling to break free of the confines of her imprisonment… It is a slow process, it is a painful process… To come to the realization you were so hated for being born and who and what evolution gave you, drives many to end the life that is so precious… Margie was pushed there but was stronger than the ones who hate and still hate…

Yes, Margie is struggling to be heard… I am not always so ready to listen… The pain of the body is a constant reminder of the gifts given by my parents… 63 years later, it will not let me forget… The pain of the mind is taken one day at a time… It is called acceptance…

Acceptance that I was hated from birth… Acceptance that my first love was only in my mind… Acceptance that my siblings turned out just like my parents…

It’s a hard road to walk upon… It has its ups and downs and pitfalls… It is a lonely road… and I hear a soft little voice and a hand upon my heart… Margie is here, she is waiting and hoping, she knows we will get to the end of that road of acceptance…

TimesUp #MeToo

I Remember…

 

 

Author: Adorable Spite

Domestic violence is an old song, sung thru the ages like a hymn and purported to be the way christians live their lives... full of deceit, hate, bigotry and most of all fear... It is that fear that cost me my virginity, my soul and most of all my humanity... I had to fight to keep the christians hands off my soul, but they stole from my body and so did the U. S. Air Force... Rape and attempted murder... but image was more important... Vance AFB and Webb AFB... #WhyIDidntTell #MeToo TimesUP, Circle of Silence is no more....